Two Tales of Follicles
by yarntastic
Summary: Two short stories about the most colorful heads of hair in the Brownstone. First, Archie succumbs to the hands of the mischievous Atlanta. Second, Archie learns to double check that the contents of a box matches the outer packaging.
1. Mischief managed?

"He's gonna kill you, you know that?"

"Shh, keep your voice down. You'll wake him," Atlanta hissed at Odie, who stood in the doorway sipping a soda and watching her. "And he won't kill me. He's worked too hard for this relationship to kill me off just yet."

"Whatever you say," Odie shook his head as he turned and retreated to his basement sanctuary. He made a mental note to himself to start working on his testimony now, should he need it.

With the distraction gone, Atlanta returned to the task at hand. It had been a slow, boring Sunday at the Brownstone. None of the seven heroes had anything particular to do, and each spent their day trying to keep busy doing something. Odie and Herry were messing around in their perspective rooms downstairs, Neil was making rounds at the mall and various salons even though he had done the exact same the day before, and Jay and Theresa were out somewhere together (though, the rest of the house really didn't want the details). Atlanta had planted herself on the couch flipping through TV stations in a continuous round – even the TV networks didn't have anything special going on. Archie soon joined her, and despite the clearly open seating, as well as Atlanta's remarks, he sat on the floor leaning against her legs and began to read. Not long after he sat down, partly out of boredom and partly out of habit, Atlanta began to play with her warrior's hair.

Archie's violet locks had always intrigued Atlanta since the day she met him. Perhaps it was the way the vibrant color contrasted his pale skin, or maybe it was just the color itself – she did have a soft spot for boys who picked up the dye bottle. However, the intrigue intensified the day she first ran her fingers through it. Still to this day she wondered how it remained so soft and fluffy with all the bleach and dye he used on it. And now that he was hers, she took every possible opportunity to trail her fingers through it and ravel in its soft luxurious purpleness.

Today, Archie's hair held a new interest for her. As her hands glided through (his hair now fully occupied her attention as the TV stalled on a station with some sports game), she could see his brown roots beginning to peek through below his purple hair. This was almost as intriguing as the purple. She began to wonder how Archie would look if he kept with his normal color and let the purple grow out – though, she wouldn't trade that precious color for the world.

When something brushed against her knee, Atlanta snapped back to reality. As she glanced down, she suddenly recalled Archie's only weakness other than his ankle: having his hair played with relaxed him to the point where he would fall asleep. And he had done just that. His head rested against her leg as his book slid to the floor, losing its current page.

She considered waking her boyfriend up, but at the same time she wanted to keep playing with his hair; there really wasn't anything else to do, after all. Trying to make up her mind, she glanced around the room. Her eyes fell upon the coffee table, on which lay one of those plastic loom things that were currently all the rage, and turned little rubberbands into various jewelry items – it was Theresa's new hobby after she did a little too much internet browsing one night. Atlanta glanced between a small baggie of rubber bands on the table and Archie's hair. A wicked smile spread across her face as she carefully leaned forward and snatched the baggie of colorful bands and set to work.

That was all a little over a half hour ago. As she wrapped the final lock of purple hair with a tiny rubberband, she smiled down at her handiwork. A giggle escaped her mouth. She had divided all of Archie's hair into tiny little tufts and wrapped a rubberband around each one, resulting in little tails that stuck out from his head in a very peculiar fashion.

"Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty." She leaned down and kissed the young man's cheek. He stirred, waking from his restful nap. "I was playing with your hair again and you fell asleep. Sorry."

"Mmh. I don't mind. It felt wonderful."

"Can you – Could you get up?" Atlanta fought back the laughter. Archie had turned to face her, and the front view of his new hairstyle was even more humorous than the back. "I… I need to use the bathroom. Or something."

The boy raised an eyebrow as he stood and held out his hand to pull the girl up. " 'Or something'?"

The more she looked, the harder it was to refrain herself. "Yeah… I've gotta… I've gotta go." She stood on her toes to reach Archie's lips for a kiss. The innocent look on his face was more than she could bear, and she quickly made her way towards the stairs.

At the small landing between floors, she flopped down and burst into a fit of laughter. Maybe Odie was right and Archie would kill her for this after all, once he realized just what she had done. However, the only regret she had at the moment was that she didn't have her PMR with her to capture the moment.

"_ATLANTAAAA_!"

As the voice echoed through the building, another wave of laughter came over her as she pictured a red-faced and furious Archie with his new hairdo.

"_WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE_?!"

Yeah. She was as good as dead. But in a strange way, it was worth it.


	2. A bad mix

"What IS that smell?!" Odie cried out as he waved the air in front of him. He and Herry had just walked through the back door, returning from a trip to the mall to pick up the latest expansion pack to one of Odie's computer games.

"Whatever it is, I'm definitely not eating it," Herry remarked as he pinched his nose while propping the screen door open to allow the flow of air into the smelly kitchen.

"Cheap hair bleach."

The duo stopped dead in their tracks as their eyes fell simultaneously on the source of the voice. Archie sat leaning back in a chair paging through one of the many magazines that were always laying around the Brownstone, his feet crossed and resting up on the tabletop. At least, the voice sounded like Archie with its nonchalant and I-don't-give-an-expletive tone, and one of the legs up on the table sported a gold ankle brace like Archie. But the person in front of them certainly couldn't be Archie. For one, the signature blue hoodie was nowhere to be found – instead, the young man before them was wearing a white T-shirt with a raggedy towel around his neck. And perhaps the most startling aspect was the bright and almost translucent white hair. Odie glanced back to Herry who simply shrugged his shoulders, answering his friend's silent question.

The person infront of them raised an eyebrow at the pair's expressions. "You seriously thought I just magically grew purple hair?" It was Archie alright, as confirmed by the sarcasm and characteristic eyebrow movement. Though this only comforted the pair slightly, as the sight was still shocking.

"But we've lived together for how long and I've never smelled anything like this! You could have opened the windows!" Odie marched to the kitchen window and flung it open, taking in the fresh air.

Archie shrugged and turned the page in his magazine. "Heph's been working in the basement bathroom all morning. Neil beat me to the second floor bathroom and there's a good couple hours before he could possibly be finished. And the third floor option is currently occupado by what I can only assume to be Jay and/or Theresa."

"And you couldn't wait until later?" Herry asked from just outside the doorway, not wanting to enter the foul smelling kitchen.

"I've got a date with the Missus tomorrow," Archie smirked. "Gotta look good."

"Speaking of your girlfriend, where is she?" Odie finally took note that, minus himself and Herry, Archie was alone in the kitchen. Such a thing he should have registered right away when he came into the room. This particular pairing of humans had become joined at the hip for the last few months, much to Archie's delight and much to the dismay of the rest of the house. "Shouldn't Atlanta be in here preachin' about how these chemicals are killing the ozone or baby seals or something?"

"She's working some Green Alliance rally 'til tonight. I'm not stupid." A timer dinged and Archie stood from the table, paying Odie no mind as he walked to the sink. He removed two plastic gloves from a small box near the sink and began placing them on his hands. "Now either you two can stay and not whine about the smell of the dye or you can leave."

Odie and Herry groaned and glanced at each other. The smell was surely just as strong in the living room right next door. And with Heph in the basement there was no use retreating down there to Odie's room to play video games.

"C'mon," Herry sighed, and motioned for Odie to follow as he turned away from the building, "let's hit the arcade."

* * *

This was bad. Worse than bad; it was horrible. Hell, this was even worse than horrible and could be ranked close to Cronus in awful-ness.

Archie sat on his bed with his head in his hands, his hood pulled up and drawn tight around his head. This was just – it was bad. What the hell was he going to do? He had a real date with Atlanta this time tomorrow. Not just sitting around the Brownstone, or going for a walk, or going to see a movie together. They were going out to a concert that he had worked his hide off for just trying to get his hands on the tickets. And now this.

He ran over the possibilities in his head. There was nothing he could do in the next twenty-four hours. Absolutely nothing. He couldn't walk around with his hoodie up and avoiding the world; it would raise questions and force him to take it down, revealing what was underneath. And his teachers, god and mortal, wouldn't let him keep it on until he could do something. He couldn't dye over it, the chemicals were still too fresh.

He picked up the empty box of hair dye that sat in front of him. He had done this for the last hour, picking it up and putting it back down, shaking his head. He should have waited, like Herry said, for a bathroom to open up so he could be more observant. He looked at the smiling teens on the box, with their purple locks just like his should have been. This was the same brand he had always bought, first because of the price and since because he liked how his hair turned out from it.

Anger got the best of him and he crushed the box in his hand, tossing it at the wall.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Arch? Recycle." He glanced up to see the small redhead enter his room, picking up the crushed box at her feet. She smiled as she sat on the edge of his bed and playfully tossed the box back at him. The smile soon faded to a frown as she waited for Archie to acknowledge her arrival. "What are you pouting about now?"

"I'm not pouting," Archie grumbled as he stared at the bed.

Atlanta rolled her eyes. "It's been a long day and I'm not playing this guessing game with you. Now spit it out."

Without looking up, Archie decided to bite the bullet and quickly raised his hand to push his hood back. Atlanta would find out soon enough when he had to explain his reasoning for not wanting to leave the Brownstone for the next week; might as well get it over with.

The silence was what finally drew his eyes upward. There wasn't a single mutter or even a sharp intake of air from the girl in front of him. Just silence.

Humiliating – that was the word he had been looking for this whole time. This whole situation was humiliating.

"It's—I," she finally managed to stammer through her shocked expression, "imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but—I—what, just—what happened?!" Her hand reached out to the young man's head to touch his hair. Her fingers weren't met by precious purple locks. Instead, her fingers trailed through red hair; it was darker than hers, but not by much, yet still vibrant in color.

"I don't know!" Archie snapped and swatted her hand away. "The dye must not have been mixed right or the packaging was wrong or something."

"And you didn't—"

"No, I didn't notice. Not until it was too late."

"It's not that bad. It's just different. And not—"

"—not purple."

"It's just hair. You can fix it in a few days."

"I can't walk around with the same hair color as you."

Atlanta could feel her eyes rolling again out of frustration. "It's just your hair. I love your purple hair just as much as you do, but I'm not pouting over it because I know that YOU CAN FIX IT IN A FEW DAYS. Besides, it's not that bad. It's just, really not you." She kissed his cheek. "I pull off the bright red hair a lot better than you can, sweetie."

* * *

"Hey, guys." Archie was a bit apprehensive as he walked into the kitchen the next morning. None of the others knew about his hair dye mishap yet. He had turned in for the night as soon as Atlanta left, after finally convincing him that the red hair didn't change anything.

Looking up, Neil promptly spit out his orange juice in a spray across the table.

"NEIL!" Theresa cried, trying to rescue her plate of breakfast from the contaminated juice spray.

'Well, Arch," Neil smirked, regaining his composure, "imitation IS the sincerest form of—"

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it already." Archie muttered, cutting off his friend. He sat down in his usual seat at the table and started to pour cereal from one of the boxes on the table into the bowl waiting for him. The others around the table were a little taken aback by his new appearance, but didn't make a fuss after Neil's not-so-polite way of bringing it up.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Neil looked up to the doorway once more, the shocked expression returning. Out of juice in his glass, Neil simply made sputtering noises as he stared to a fixed point across the room. The others at the table followed suit; first Herry, then Odie, then traveling down the side of the table to Jay and Theresa, all turning toward the doorway with their faces morphing into the same shocked expression. Curious, Archie did so as well. What he saw made him spit out his half chewed cereal.

"ARCHIE!" Theresa cried out, again. Distracted from the doorway, she pushed away her plate, giving up on rescuing her meal.

But Archie paid her no mind. His mouth hung open as he stared into the doorway. Atlanta had walked in, still in her pajamas – though that was nothing out of the ordinary. She sat down in her chair beside Archie and snatched the cereal box from beside him. "Morning," she chirped, kissing his cheek, and began to prepare her breakfast as though there was nothing out of the ordinary.

There was, however, one very big thing out of the ordinary. Tentatively, Archie lifted his hand to Atlanta's hair and softly pulled a stray lock. It was real. The hair was no longer the bright red that it was when he saw her just last night. Now, it was a very familiar shade of purple.

Atlanta winked as she lifted a spoonful of cereal and soy milk to her mouth. "My bottle of dye must have been mixed wrong too."


End file.
